


Dangerously Close

by kisssanitygoodbye, moodymarshmallow



Series: Like Attracts Like [14]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Frot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fabian Hawke has broken his hand, and Theron Mahariel is not in the mood to let him mope about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerously Close

**Author's Note:**

> written by moodymarshmallow

“Of everything they could have broken, it had to be my bloody hand!”

Fabian Hawke was ranting again, third time that day, glaring at Theron as if the situation was his fault. In actuality, there was simply nobody else to yell at—they’d all gotten sick of Fabian’s attitude and given up on attempting to console him before the first day was over. It was the third now, and time had not cooled his temper. “Who breaks a mage’s hand, anyway?” he asked, accusatory.

“Somebody who isn’t fond of being set on fire, I imagine,” Theron said smoothly as he sat beside Fabian, a certain sense of amusement in his placid face.

“Oh, ha ha,” said Fabian with a sarcastic snort. “I get injured and you grow a sense of humor. Brilliant.”

“I could just leave if you’re so bothered by my presence.” But as he spoke, Theron was taking off his boots and socks, wriggling newly bare toes into the plush rug. “Or we could go to The Hanged Man, see Varric, maybe play some cards. You could do Wicked Grace with one hand,” he suggested. Fabian groaned in frustration.

“I don’t want to play Wicked Grace with one hand, and I am not leaving until it’s healed.”

“Oh?” Theron leaned on him, pressing his lips to his cheek. “That’s a long time to wallow in self-imposed misery.” Fabian only snorted, though he slipped his good arm around Theron’s waist, absently stroking his bony hip.

“I couldn’t go out if I wanted to anyway,” Fabian grumbled.

“Why not?”

“I haven’t been able to use my hand for three days; I’m not presentable.” Fabian tried not to sound haughty and failed, color briefly rising on his cheek when Theron raised a dubious brow at him. “I haven’t been able to shave,” he said finally, lifting his unwrapped hand to rub his chin, his stubble, usually neatly manicured, overgrown and wild.

“Is that all?” Theron asked, amusement sparkling in his pale, pretty eyes. “I had no idea you were so vain.”  

“Laugh it up, Red.”

“Come on; I’ll give you a shave.” Fabian had closed his eyes when Theron’s lips met his ear, but they flew open now, and he turned, casting a dubious gaze at Theron’s hairless chin.

“Have you even  _held_  a razor before?” Fabian asked warily, narrowing his eyes.

“I’ve tanned hides, scraped fur from them—can’t be too different,” Theron said in a tone that was as close to cheerful as he ever got. Fabian couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“If that’s your only experience with a razor I think I’ll pass.”

“Don’t be foolish. I have steady hands; two minutes and we’ll be out of here and you can stop whining,” Theron said, taking Fabian’s good hand firmly, waiting for him to stand before leading him to the washroom.

“This is a terrible idea,” Fabian said, leaning against the wall as Theron rummaged through the drawers for the razor, strop, and shaving brush. “They’re going to find me dead on the floor.”

“Only if you don’t stop complaining,” said Theron, glancing up from where he was crouching, digging through a cupboard now. “And even then it won’t be from the razor—I’ll get my bow. Good, clean kill that way. It’ll be much faster than bleeding out from a neck wound.”

“You picked an awful time to try to be funny. And you’re not good at it—that’s rather creepy.”

“Stop whining.” Theron set the blade on the edge of the basin, turning on the tap until warm water filled it. “Or go lie down and feel sorry for yourself for having a beard.” Theron cupped Fabian’s cheek and kissed him lightly, nuzzling his cheek. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered, brushing his lips over the bottle-brush whiskers on Fabian’s chin. Fabian swallowed hard. “Good, now here, wash your face,” Theron said and handed him a wet cloth before turning his attention to the razor, eyeing it critically.

As Fabian washed his face, Theron honed the blade on the strop, brushing his thumb lightly over the flat. He’d laid out the soap and brush, so Fabian did his best to stir the soap to a froth and spread it over his chin. It was a messy process—he’d never quite learned how to use his left hand all that well.

“Now just stay still and we’ll be fine,” Theron said, lifting the sharp blade to Fabian’s cheek, using the other hand to press to his neck, steadying him. Fabian looked down at Theron, unmoving, aware of how close he was, aware of how quickly he could draw that blade across his neck, aware of the intense concentration in his eyes as it touched his skin. The blade rasped over his cheek, cool and hard, barely touching his skin. Theron lifted it away, meeting Fabian’s eyes as he wiped the razor on the wet cloth, the smallest smile on his lips—a silent “told you so.”

Fabian closed his eyes, all nerves, the shifting of Theron’s hand on his neck sending electric fire through him, raising gooseflesh on his arms, giving his cock a good twitch. He opened his eyes to see the very tip of Theron’s tongue peeking from between his lips, held tight between his teeth as he concentrated. The blade touched his skin again, and this time his cock was hard.

“Tilt your head back,” Theron said, glancing to see Fabian’s eyes, pausing, his lips curling into a little smirk. “Typical,” he said with a soft laugh, pressing his thumb into Fabian’s jaw to hold his head still, dragging the razor slow and gently down his chin, over his adam’s apple. “Is this why you were so reluctant?” Theron asked, wiping soap off the razor again.

“You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?” Fabian asked, turning his head to give Theron access to his jawline.

“Never,” Theron said with a small laugh, running the blade’s cool back down his neck, grinning when Fabian shivered. “Almost done. A pity, hmm?”

Fabian was silent, pressing his lips together while Theron carefully used the razor to shave his moustache, but he let out a relieved sigh when Theron set down the blade and used the towel to wipe off the remains of the soap.

“See? Not a single nick,” Theron said, standing on his toes to meet Fabian’s lips, his mouth warm and eager. “Isn’t it better when you trust me?”

“I—” Theron’s tongue in his mouth muffled him; hard kisses, the press of Theron’s hip against his belly, the hand on his neck—all hot, all backed with force, and all the while Theron’s eyes never left his. Fabian hissed inwardly at the hand on his crotch, squeezing his cock. “I thought you wanted to go to the Hanged Man.”

“I wanted you to stop being a pain in my ass.”

“I thought you  _liked_  when I was in your ass,” Fabian said with a grin, sliding his good hand behind Theron, down the small of his back. He lifted it up his shirt, stroking his soft, scarred back, then down, under the waistband of his trousers, squeezing his ass, loving it.

“Asshole.”

“You love it or you’d leave.”

“How can I leave when you whine every time I do?” Theron purred, burying his face into Fabian’s neck and pressing his teeth down on his newly smooth skin. “Didn’t you tell me you  _needed_ me?” Theron whispered, a shift of his hip pressing Fabian to the tiled wall.

“Don’t fucking joke about that,” Fabian growled, digging his nails into the small of Theron’s back, his cheeks burning. Theron lifted a hand and cupped Fabian’s jaw, pushing his head back roughly, just careful enough not to slam it against the wall. His lips were hot on Fabian’s chin, tongue tracing the smooth skin there then back, a kiss on his adam’s apple.

“You’re so young, you know that?” Theron asked. “If you were a Dalish, you wouldn’t even have earned your vallaslin. Sometimes I can’t handle how foolish you are.” Theron met his eyes, both hands on his neck, rubbing under his ears. “And sometimes I think if you were stupid enough to leave me I would hunt you down and chase you to every corner of the world,” Theron hissed, placing another kiss to his neck, this one tender to soothe the red impression from his teeth. “You  _do_ need me—you’re a fucking disaster by yourself.” Theron kissed him again, sliding his hands back into his hair, knowing that the firm hand on the back of his neck wasn’t an angry one, knowing the look in Fabian’s eyes without seeing it.

Fabian was short of breath by the time Theron had lifted up his shirt, kissing his way down his belly, stroking his cock through his trousers, his eyes too intent and intense to watch. Fabian said his name, then gasped at the chill of tile on his ass, his trousers bunching around his knees until he stepped out of them. He shifted his fingers through Theron’s hair, looking down at him in time to see the tip of his cock disappearing into Theron’s hot mouth.

Theron was stronger than he looked—that was the first thing Fabian learned about him, and it was the one he forgot the most often. He tried to shove his hip forward, push himself into Theron’s mouth, and one hand on his hip held him back, the other encircled around the shaft of his cock, stroking slowly. Fabian cussed, whispered Theron’s name like an oath, and braced himself against the bathroom wall the best he could, knees weak, head spinning.

Fabian lost himself in a torrent of unsaid importance, his tongue too thick and scared to tell Theron what he really felt, that he  _did_ need him, more than he could possibly understand; how the sex was great but it wasn’t even necessary anymore, how the pale green of Theron’s sleepy eyes in the morning made him feel both like he wanted to die and that he was happier to be alive than ever. Instead he cussed again, tightened his grip on Theron’s hair, loved him silently and profoundly with every stroke of his tongue on the underside of his cock.

When he came, Theron’s grip on his hip was the only thing keeping him up, and as soon as Theron let him go, grabbing for the cloth to wipe his face, Fabian slid to the floor, trying not to think about the fact that he was sitting on the tile, bare-assed and one-handed. “Maker’s fucking cock,” he managed to choke, tilting his head back and searching for more air, gasping, groaning when Theron’s mouth covered his again, this time tasting of seawater and sex. He fumbled with Theron’s trousers when he straddled him, pulling them down just far enough to feel the familiar weight of Theron’s hard cock in his hand. He gave him short strokes and long kisses, pulling him close enough so he could push his hips against Fabian’s stomach. There were no words, just sensation, just rocking and sweat and gasps and Fabian scooping cum off his stomach with two fingers to suck them off, so they could taste like one another the next time they kissed.

“Do you feel better now?” Theron asked after a long silence, before sitting half naked on the bathroom floor was uncomfortable, but after the urgency had passed. He was sitting in Fabian’s lap now, one arm around his shoulder, face in his neck. Fabian nodded and kissed one of Theron’s red, twitching ears.

“Thanks,” Fabian said softly, “for putting up with me, I mean.”

“Better watch it there,” Theron said, teasing, lips flush to his cheek. “You’re dangerously close to admitting you care about me.”

“I do,” Fabian said without pause. Theron smiled.

“I know,” he said gently, resting his head on Fabian’s shoulder. “Me too.”

“Do you really think I’m a disaster?”

“Yeah, but you’re  _my_  disaster.”

“Guess so,” Fabian said, closing his eyes and burying his face into Theron’s sweat-damp hair, thinking that he couldn’t imagine anything else he’d rather be.


End file.
